The rain that evening had the sort of stubborn persistence that suggested it had no intention of stopping anytime soon. It fell in steady sheets upon the city; upon the rusting roofs of small houses, upon the tangled mess of electric wires overhead, and upon the narrow sidewalks where people hurried along with umbrellas tilted against the wind.
Yet life, as it often did, carried on with quiet determination.
Among the many pedestrians navigating the drenched streets was a young man of twenty-two, trudging along with the unremarkable patience of someone who had grown accustomed to difficult days.
His shoes were damp, his shirt clung unpleasantly to his skin, and his umbrella, having suffered a tragic encounter with a particularly enthusiastic gust of wind earlier that week was currently residing in the honorable afterlife reserved for broken umbrellas everywhere.
Thus, he walked without one.
The rain soaked through his hair and ran down the sides of his face, though he seemed too tired to mind.
His name was not particularly important at this moment. What mattered more was the quiet story he carried with him, the sort of story that rarely made headlines but existed in countless variations across the world.
At twenty-two, he should have been enjoying the slow and hopeful climb of university life. Once upon a time, that had indeed been the plan. He had been a third-year college student, majoring in Education with a focus on English, a subject he genuinely enjoyed. Words fascinated him and stories fascinated him even more.
Unfortunately, stories did not pay tuition.
Reality, being the rather unromantic creature that it was, had intervened.
Financial problems arrived quietly at first small expenses here, unexpected bills there until they accumulated into something that could no longer be ignored. Eventually, the difficult decision had been made. University would have to wait.
Or perhaps it would not come again at all.
He had dropped out.
Not because he lacked the ability to study, but because his family needed help more urgently than his academic ambitions needed nurturing. Someone had to work. Someone had to earn. And so he did.
During the day, he worked long hours at a modest job that paid just enough to keep the household breathing. At night, when exhaustion allowed it, he still tried to learn like reading books online, watching lectures, and absorbing whatever knowledge he could find scattered across the vast and unpredictable landscape of the internet.
He had always been curious about everything. Languages. History. Science. Philosophy. Random trivia that served no immediate purpose whatsoever.
And of course—
Games and webnovels.
Those were his favorite escapes.
In those worlds, the protagonists often woke up with extraordinary powers. They conquered magical academies, defeated dragons, and rose from poverty to unimaginable glory.
Reality, by comparison, was significantly less dramatic.
Still, a man was allowed to dream.
The young man continued walking along the sidewalk, the rain falling harder now. Water pooled along the edges of the street, reflecting the glow of streetlights in trembling golden ripples.
He tilted his head upward.
The sky above was a dull blanket of dark clouds, swollen with rain.
For a moment he simply stood there, letting the cold water run across his face.
Then he spoke quietly, though there was no one nearby who cared to listen.
"I wish things get better."
It was not a particularly grand wish. No request for fame and no demand for power. Just… something better. He resumed walking where the place he called home was not that far now.
—
As he approached the small cluster of houses that formed his neighborhood, another sound joined the rhythm of falling rain.
Music.
Loud, energetic music spilling from the open window of a nearby house. Someone inside was evidently enjoying themselves with enthusiastic dedication.
The young man slowed slightly, listening.
The song was familiar. Recently popular, in fact. It had been trending everywhere online on video platforms, social media, and even the occasional street vendor's speaker.
The song was "Golden."
From the Netflix animated series K‑Pop Demon Hunters.
Through the rain and the open window, the lyrics carried clearly.
I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'
Like I'm born to be—
The young man let out a small breath that was half laugh, half sigh.
He muttered to himself.
"I wish I could have gold."
The words came out with the casual honesty of someone who had rehearsed that thought a thousand times in silence.
"I want to be rich."
The music continued.
We're goin' up, up, up
It's our moment
You know together we're glowing—
He shook his head faintly, amused at his own thoughts.
"I want to help my family," he murmured. "It's really hard to be poor."
It was not said bitterly. Just… truthfully.
Rain continued to fall.
The song grew louder.
Gonna be, gonna be golden—
The young man smiled faintly and continued walking.
Then, with an almost theatrical sense of timing, he looked up toward the sky once more and said with dramatic sincerity:
"I wanna be golden."
The universe, as it turned out, possessed a deeply questionable sense of humor.
Because at that exact moment—
Something large and fast was losing control several meters behind him.
The heavy rain had turned the road into a treacherous river of slick asphalt. Tires struggled for traction. Brakes fought valiantly but ultimately failed to convince physics to behave politely.
A delivery truck skidded.
The driver shouted something extremely unheroic. The truck lurched sideways and the vehicle responsible for this sudden turn of events belonged to a rather famous Filipino bakery chain.
Namely, Goldilocks.
The irony would have been appreciated… if anyone had time to notice.
The young man heard the screech of tires too late.
He turned his head; and with bright headlights a massive vehicle sliding toward him with the unstoppable enthusiasm of an angry rhinoceros.
His final thought was remarkably calm.
…Ah.
Then
CRASH.
The impact was swift.
Pain existed for exactly half a second before vanishing entirely.
Rain continued falling.
The music from the neighbor's house reached the final triumphant line.
Gonna be golden—
And thus ended the brief and thoroughly unremarkable life of a young man who had wished for gold.
Technically speaking, he did not become gold.
But he was struck by it.
A truck full of Goldilocks cakes had accomplished what fate, poverty, and university tuition had not.
It had successfully transported him, quite violently, into the unknown.
And somewhere far beyond the rain-soaked streets of Earth…
A new story was about to begin.